The Academy From Hell
by pitfalls
Summary: In which Naruto fails his A-levels, but somehow manages to land an 'special conditions scholarship' invite to the most prestigious boys school in the country. And maybe Sasuke (who is not all he seems to be) might have had something to do with that. Naruto needs to realize: what Sasuke wants, Sasuke gets. M/M, adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**The Academy From Hell (1/?) by ****pitfalls **

**Warning: M/M scenes today people (liiiiitle bit of non-con, but it doesn't really escalate).**

Disclaimer: Don't own.

**CHAPTER ONE**

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I suppose I should at least tell you how it started. The story behind how I came to be kicked out of one of the most prestigious schools in England with no way of being anything but grateful that they didn't take it further. Oh, and how I got the president's son expelled along with me. I guess if I really have to think about it, the story doesn't even start when I first started there- it goes back to that long, baking summer before.

Yeah, so that summer was pretty much one of the best of my life. Scratch that, it was _the_ best. It was gloriously long, and seemed to stretch out forever with no hope of coming to an end. All I did was meet up with Kiba and the guys, smoke, drink and really just… relax. England was going through some bizarre heatwave, and we planned to make the most of it. In fact, I still can't bear the sight of paddling pools after that unfortunate accident with Lee and the hammer (although I did split my sides laughing about it for at least a week). We'd just finished exam season, and the prospect of going off to Uni was more than enough to push us into this 'live fast die young' type mindset for the next four months. It was like there was no stopping us, we were eighteen and therefore free of nagging parents and teachers, free of any society based constraints. It was bloody brilliant and it was an unspoken agreement to enjoy every single fucking second – make it as unforgettable as we could. After all, we'd be going our separate ways as soon as September started.

And so, around July, we made the decision to head off into the sunny south of France for a holiday. Just the usual gang: me, Kiba, Kankuro, Shino, Ten-ten and Lee. And to be pedantic, I suppose that's where it all started, that's where everything was suddenly propelled into motion and, without sounding too cliché or dramatic, my life was changed forever. If I hadn't have seen him in that club, if I hadn't have drank that one glass of water, if I hadn't have argued with him about that olive – But wait. I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'll start in France.

So, picture this: A day spent on the beach, burying Kankuro in sand (because he loves it so much, _giggidy_), daring Lee to ask two middle aged men out and trying to drag Ten-Ten away from the surfing instructor. An exhausting day of doing absolutely nothing, perfectly finished by sitting in the bar and watching the sun sink red beneath the waves as I dug my feet into the sand.

Although to be honest we weren't really focusing on the scenery at that point. For want of anything better to do…Yes, I'll admit, we got absolutely and purposely pissed. It started with Lee, as it always does, challenging Kiba to some kind of 'righteous, youthful drinking competition', and of course he accepted – we all know how much of a lightweight Lee is. Then, however, moderately tipsy Kiba challenged Shino, and a drunk Shino was so awkward/honestly-fucking-creepy that the rest of us ended up drinking more just so we could stop laughing. What can I say? It seemed like a good idea at the time – shotting back vodka and sipping Cosmopolitans and other girly drinks just for the shits and gigs, whilst the smell of salt and barbeque curled lazily around us like an old lover, dredging up old memories and taking the piss out of Lee's 'dancing'.

And then the turning point of this whole ordeal: someone had the ridiculously stupid idea to go to that famous gay French club, _TRINITY_, as it was pretty close by and hell, we had some money to spend. In my defense, we were all _drunk_: the idea of spending half the money we took with us and queuing up for hours just to spend more money on overpriced drinks at a pretentiously posh night club seemed like omissible fun.

I can't really remember how we got from the beach bar to _TRINITY, _and I don't recall queuing at all (even though I was assured later that we passed the time by daring each other to chat up random French women…and men). It was all a bit hazy by then, and the first thing I can recall thinking was actually how _good _the club's interior was. It was like partying in some old, opulent, French aristocrats home but with a huge bar and DJ stage and maybe more than a couple of barely dressed pole dancers. It had at least three stories, but only the first floor was open to paying guests -the second and third were exclusively available for the VIP parties (the rich and the royalty and the socialites). Even so, you could still see the amazingly high arched ceiling from the dance floor, painted in the typical renaissance 'winged children and naked women' esque style. The whole space oozed sex, money and independence, and really, even in my drunken state I was still a bit awed.

As I staggered inside, the base was a thrumming pounding and so loud I felt like my heart had started beating in time; the kind of volume that makes your teeth vibrate. I couldn't understand a word of French, which made singing along impossible, so every time a song came on in English it became custom to shout the words out as loud as we could before collapsing in fits of giggles. Yes, we may have got a couple of odd looks for it (either that, or Ten-Ten's 'singing'), but we could just blame it on being foreign, if nothing else.

High up on tiny circular cylinders were several dancers, both genders, eyes closed and swaying. Their gyrating and graceful hip shaking was mirrored in the writhing mass of people below, stray white lights illuminating flecks of sweat and glitter every so often. In reality, we were so drunk by then that we didn't even need to visit the bar – we just headed straight into one of the dancing sections. It was so easy to get lost in the heat and the noise that it took me by surprise when after only a couple of seconds I could just make out flashes of Lee, and no one else.

But anyway, I was feeling pretty damn good by this point; drunk enough to be finding it all hilarious and brilliant but just sober enough to be able to dance. It was getting hot: sweat was pasting my top to my chest, outlining my abs and clinging to my waist. I didn't really care - everyone dancing was in the same situation. Closing my eyes, I sank right into the music, running a hand through my blonde hair and trying to ignore the appreciative pedo glances I was getting from people around me.

I'd been dancing for at least an hour before some guy wove his way through the crowd to approach me. He grinned, showing white teeth and clear blue eyes, and moved into my personal space. I didn't really notice him that much – I was too focused in staring intently though a gap in the crows where I thought I could see Kiba – until his warm hands landed on my hips. I froze for a moment – slightly surprised at the contact, before resuming my dancing. It was nice; soothing and steadying, especially when I was feeling slightly dizzy still. The song changed effortlessly, and we swayed together, my back lightly touching his front.

I don't know when it happened, but all of a sudden I realized I was grinding up against this random guy, and that he either had something very hard in his pocket, or…

I swallowed, and all of a sudden I felt claustrophobic; the heat had risen beyond pleasurable and progressed into something too intense: I was looking for a good time dancing with my friends, not to fuck someone whose name, let alone face, I didn't even know. Gradually, awareness of just how drunk and therefore at risk I was seeped in through the strobe lights and the base, and I realized I should probably be trying to find my friends.

Trying too hard not to think about it, I did the sensible thing: I tugged his hands off my hips and shouldered my way through the crowd, flicking my sweat-dripping hair off my face and blinking my eyes in an effort to regain coherency. I managed to slip through, finding my way to one of the small bars stationed around the floor. Shino was at the opposite end to where I was, deeply engaged in conversation with a small, dark haired girl holding what looked like a whisky glass. I was about to make my way over before he glanced up and subtly shook his head. Oh well, if he was pulling who was I to disrupt it?

I sat down where I was and ordered a water to clear my head. Shino actually managed to get a girl before I did. What a mindfuck. Although, it wasn't really a girl I was looking for…

A couple of seconds later, the chair next to me was pulled out and someone slipped in. I lazily turned my head and wasn't really surprised to find it was the guy from before.

He ordered a drink before he stuck out a hand and smiled wolfishly once again.

"Zabuza. And you are…?"

I shook his hand, a little bit surprised at the gravel to his voice. "Naruto." I answered politely, giving him a trademark Uzumaki smile.

He returned the smile and shifted a little closer towards me on his seat as I sipped my water. It was ice cold, and quite refreshing, not to mention doing a good job of sobering me up. Bit by bit, the warm fuzziness from too much alcohol was slowly starting to recede.

"So Naruto, what bring you to France?" He propped his head on his hand, and maintained eye contact while I debated how much to tell him. It took a while to sink in, but then I realized and my eyes widened a little - he was actually talking _English_!

"Hey, a fellow Brit!" We bumped fists. "I'm actually here on holiday with friends before we all head off to Uni." I said casually, looking over towards Shino for a couple of seconds to see how he fared with his new 'date'. Well, the girl hadn't stormed off looking appalled yet, so evidentially they hadn't gotten round to talking about his apparent bug obsession.

Zabuza laughed, taking a gulp of whatever alcohol he'd ordered. It looked suspiciously to be vodka based, and in truth the smell was making me feel a little sick. _This is what you get for drinking too much_, I chided myself. Trying to straighten up a little, I took another large gulp of my water to cure my nausea, forcefully ignoring the chemical taste; everything tastes weird when you're drunk.

'_Allo? Il a mis quelque chose dans votre boisson!_' I put my drink down, and looked up to where the barman was suddenly striding over to where we were sitting, eyes wide and intent on me. What the hell? If this was another person trying to make me pay for tap water…

Although that didn't quite seem to be it.

He started at me, frowning and speaking furiously in French for several seconds, before giving up and starting on Zabuza. The guy starting spitting out words rapidly and employing angry hand gestures to my new friend, who simply sat there – the picture of frozen calm. I had no idea what he was saying, but he definitely sounded pissed off, and kept pointing to me, eyes flashing.

Surprisingly, Zabuza answered in the same tongue, calmly, if not a little threateningly. They exchanged words for another couple of seconds before the barman threw up his arms in seeming despair and strode off to take someone's drink order.

Zabuza turned to me, and shrugged, raising his glass to mine. "Here's to doing French A-level all those years ago." He mocked, clinking our glasses together and taking a long swig. I followed suit, draining my water and banging the glass down on the surface.

"All those years ago? You can't be more than twenty two, my friend." I assured him, my voice coming out sounding a little odd.

Strange. I should've been sobering up, not getting more drunk.

The older man simply winked at me. "Wouldn't you like to know. Now come on, let's go somewhere quieter where we can _properly_ talk." His voice dipped lower until it was just a rough purr. I didn't really want to follow him, but he stood, heaving me up with him by the arm. I got unsteadily on to my feet, trying to find some balance. The room spun and my eyes weren't really focusing on anything.

_Shit, he'd fucking put something in my drink!_

I tried to accuse him, but the words all merged together and what came out was a barely comprehensible sentence. He seemed to get the gist though, as his grip around my waist tightened and his eyes lost the amused look they had earlier. "Just come with me, ok? I think somebody drank a little bit too much."

I wanted to let Shino know, get him to step in and _do _something, but he wouldn't look up from his date, and my mouth wasn't cooperating. My tongue felt thick and heavy, and my eyes had closed to half lids against my will. On the outside, I probably _did_ look completely pissed, but inside I was screaming at someone to notice, to realize that something about this whole situation wasn't quite right.

I always shudder when I think about this part, because it makes me realize just how big and strong and world-wise I always thought I was, and just how much I wasn't; how vulnerable I was. If one tiny little thing had changed, if Zabuza had dragged me into the room next door, or the timing hadn't been just so–

But there's no point in dwelling on what if's.

Anyway, at this point the world kept blinking in and out. Black. White. Flash. Repeat. I can only really remember snatches of what happened: someone's hand resting on my stomach for a couple of heartbeats, a dancer's elbow catching me in the side as Zabuza hauled me across the room, a stray pink light highlighting Kiba in the crowd before he was snatched away, the music in my ears (loud and incorrigible), and then suddenly it was quieter, and cooler and I was propped against a wall.

It took me a while to think through the haze in my mind, but I eventually realized that we were upstairs, a strictly forbidden, no-go area. Distantly, I knew I should probably be worried or something…but I just couldn't dredge up any negative emotion. It all seemed like one big joke as Zabuza planted his lips across mine and his tongue squirmed it's way into my partially open mouth. I would have resisted, but my limbs felt weighted, immovable, and to be honest, I was slightly turned on so I didn't really care. Cold, fumbling hands slipped under my shirt and stroked my nipples, teasing them with little flicks and making them harden instantly.

I heard myself groan – or was it him? I didn't really know, but all of a sudden we were moving again, stumbling through the corridor, knocking in to the wall before I heard a door slam behind me. There was no time to think about it, or even look around because then he was on me again, his movements hungry and rough.

Teeth nipped at my lips, forcing them open for his tongue. My mouth was plundered – I didn't even have the wits to kiss back or push him off, I just stood there, swaying, tasting salt and vodka. His fingernails scraped up my chest, pushing my top off me with hurried, rapid movements, ripping the stitching as it got stuck on one of my arms. As soon as I was bare chested, he swiftly dragged down my board shorts, leaving me with only my black briefs.

He didn't even pause – the more skin he revealed, the more pleasure he took in marking it with bites, red marks and scratches. I felt too hot, claustrophobic, but when I raised my hands in an effort to push him away, he simply grabbed hold of my wrists in one hand and pinned them to the wall above my head. I was physically trapped, and too dizzy to do anything about it.

Zabuza's hands found my nipples again, making me give a pained gasp at the harsh fondling.

"You like that?" He grunted, sticking a thigh in between my legs and pushing our groins together. I guess it shocked me a little to feel the hot hardness there, as if it made the whole thing all a bit more real. With a small amount of sick horror I realized it was seriously happening. I was going to be raped.

"N-No, stop it." The weak protest that tumbled out my mouth was ignored, or just not heard. Either way, he simply continued doing what he wanted, slowly thrusting our hips together until I could feel myself growing aroused, and hating myself for it. The drug was slowly clamping down on my brain, making thoughts and actions fall out of sync, and replacing them with just this weird, burning need.

He thrusted a little harder, and rubbed my nipple with the rough pad of his finger at the same time. Ok, yes I might have groaned a little.

And maybe, _maybe_, pushed back – but I was scarily out of my mind. Colours were all bleeding in to one, and I couldn't think, only feel and hear the flurry of 'stop' and 'no' and 'harder' slip out of my mouth and then–

"Just what the fuck is going on here?"

Zabuza tensed and froze against me for several moments, before he slowly untangled our limbs and unblocked my vision. It took me a minute to realize what was going on, why he'd stopped. I didn't even have time to be thankful as I peered around his shoulder to the person standing in the open doorway.

Even in my drugged up state, my breath caught, and I couldn't do anything but stare, gaping at my potential saviour.

He was…fucking glorious. I know that's a really girly-ass word to use, but he was. In fact, I was pretty sure I could have been drooling. It wasn't so much the good-looks, the fine cut cheekbones, the determined set of his jaw, the smooth paleness of his skin or the black hair that looked softer than hair had a right to be, glued sweat-sticky on his brow. It wasn't the solid frame, the graceful arrogance in his stance, or even the intelligent (and currently angry) flash of dark eyes.

It was everything. If someone had a check list of 'Naruto's type' he would have ticked every single box, and then quite possibly added some more. In fact, I was deliriously half tempted to start jotting them down so I wouldn't forget them later.

The sex-god stared at me like I was some kind of retard.

Thankfully, Zabuza decided to answer him, diverting his attention from my open mouth. "I would have thought it was pretty obvious," He grinned, but his eyes remained cold, and gestured to my nakedness. "However it's _still_ none of your business."

"I can assure you it _is_ my 'business', as you do not have permission to be up here." Sex-god pointed out.

Zabuza simply looked at him, unimpressed.

"And who the fuck are you?"

"Which only confirms my hypothesis. If you are who you say you are, you should at least recognize the owner of this club."

And this, ladies and gentlemen, was when I decided to add my incredibly witty self to the conversation.

"What? You look about twelve! There's no…n-no _way_ you own this…ah….um…" I dissolved into giggles, and floppily raised my hand to point at him. In his defense, he must have incredibly good hearing to decipher my slurring.

"Club? Establishment?" He finished off, unimpressed, stepping closer and peering at me. "And I'm nineteen, actually. I'm assured that it is quite old enough to run a business."

His dark eyes widened fractionally as he got a good look at me, before he closed off completely, his mouth a thin line.

"You're off your fucking head." He seemed a little shocked, before switching his gaze to Zabuza.

"What did you give him, you idiot? His pupils are way too dilated."

"I didn't give him anything, now _piss off_."

I chose this moment to give a very heroic stumble forward, before Zabuza grabbed my arm and wrenched me back. I winced and hissed in pain, looking down to see almost bruises in the shape of fingerprints, from when he'd grabbed me earlier. From the sex-god's face, he hadn't missed them either.

His eyes narrowed and he looked kind of angry. "What the fuck. Is this even consensual?"

I shook my head, weakly struggling to break the older man's hold. 'Fucking…put something in m-my…drink…" I managed to get out before everything spun again and I had to forcefully relax my muscles. I felt vaguely sick, and fluorescent patches kept invading my vision.

And then, suddenly, I was floating. Muffled noises seemed to swim past – a thud, some shouting maybe, the door slamming…I wasn't really sure. My memories get pretty sketchy at this point. I do remember being jostled a bit, hitting the floor, hearing a crack as my head was a bit too eager…but then there was warmth, arms around me, and two black, black, eyes looking concernedly into mine.

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**Thanks for reading, please drop a review.**

_*Allo? Il a mis quelque chose dans votre boisson! - 'Hello? He's put something in your drink!'_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Academy From Hell (2/?) by ****pitfalls**

Disclaimer: Don't own.

See end of Chapter for notes.

**CHAPTER TWO**

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When I think back to how I managed to clear my head that night, there's not a lot I can honestly remember. I suppose the guy (Sasuke, although I didn't know it at the time) was heaving me out of the room at that point– he had a supportive arm around my waist and the other one was pulling mine over his neck. I'm not sure what happened to Zabuza – I'm guessing he was removed by the security team, and I hope they decided to be a little lenient in their professionalism whilst handling him. The bastard should have gone to jail. Anyway, back then I could only really drudge up is this hazy feeling of _relief_, that I was safe and warm and there were no more weird guys trying to rape me. A load of people were moving past us as Sasuke was dragging me along, and fingers kept plucking and snatching, trying to push me off him. There was a vibration in his chest, nice and deep (I assume he was talking), and the questing hands stopped. I stumbled, tripping over my own feet and the arm around me tightened, his palm pressing hot into my stomach. My _bare _stomach, I should add. Every minute shift of his fingers sent a spark downwards, and I couldn't work out if it was just the drug or if was sexually frustrated.

Probably the latter.

Anyway, we ended up entering another room towards the back of the building, the door resolutely slamming shut behind. I was pushed towards a comfy but expensive looking sofa chair and handed a cold bottle of water from the fridge.

"Drink." Sasuke quietly commanded, eying me warily from where he was leaning against the bar top. I complied, blinking once before tilting my head back and gulping it down, ignoring the ache in my teeth and throat from the cold. Hopefully it would wake me up – if nothing else if gave me something to do so I didn't have to suffer through the awkward silence I knew was coming. Out the corner of my eye I thought I could see his gaze traveling down my chest and snagging on my hips. I had managed to pull my board shorts by then, but they still rested dangerously low on my hips. I knew that… but I still didn't pull them up. I quite enjoyed the attention I was getting – it's not like I got checked out frequently or anything, so I might as well have enjoyed it while it lasted.

I downed the rest of the water quickly, hoping the pain in my head would start to recede and it would enable me to start thinking clearly. The entire time, Sasukes expression gave nothing away; and as soon as I'd drained the bottle, he handed me another one, unscrewing the cap like he thought I wouldn't be capable of doing it myself. Shaking my head a little, I got started on drinking.

I went through four bottles before Sasuke had judged I'd had enough. By then I had started to regain cohesion, enough so that I was more than slightly embarrassed to be caught in a situation like this. I mean, the guy probably thought I was some kind of easy, pathetic lay who couldn't pick men worth shit. And he was annoyingly hot as well.

Someone had brought me a t-shirt with the club's logo on it, as mine had been ripped back in the other room, and it was lying on the arm of the sofa. I slipped it on, slightly ashamed of the marks peppering my abs and collarbones, and sank back into the chair cushion. I was suddenly exhausted, and my arms were beginning to ache from where Zabuza had gripped down.

The atmosphere was uncomfortable and I could feel his dark eyes intent on me. There was this weird pressure in the air, like the metallic taste you get right before a storm. I don't know, like a build up or something. Stupid thoughts kept running through my mind, like _wow, I wonder if he's gay_ and _Kiba is gonna screw oh shit he's going to kill me_, and eventually I just had to push it all out my head and focus on my surroundings. The room was, thank God, air conditioned, and there was a massive over head fan on the ceiling. It was quite spacious, with a private bar at the far end of the room, a snooker table and an array of furniture scattered all around the floor. Everything was so posh – you could tell this was exclusively for those who had money and weren't afraid to spend it. I bet a coke in that place would be at least £5.

The only noise was the whirring of the fan, the drumming sound of the guy's long fingers on his knee and my own heartbeat in my temples. Not going to lie, it was getting pretty awkward.

"What?" I asked nervously after a couple of seconds of the intense staring. I felt like I had to fill the silence in someway. I cleared my throat.

"I really appreciate you helping me out, man, I mean, you didn't have to, but you stopped him and I am _so _grateful you did. I don't even want to think about what could have happened if you hadn't – I feel like such an idiot for not watching my drink. I know they say you should never take your eyes off it in the adverts and stuff but it was literally a couple of seconds and I think the barman was trying to warn me anyway…pretty sucky that I can't speak French, I guess, considering I'm _in_ France and all-" I cut myself off in full flow, feeling my face flush slightly even though I tried to tamp it down. The guy didn't need my life story.

Sasuke sighed.

"Hey, has anyone told you you're really gracious at accepting a thank you?" All of a sudden I felt a flash of anger at his utter emotional incompetence. I'd been through shit, still had all the drugs and alcohol in my system, and I really just wanted to get out of this fucking club. Not sit here and be silently interrogated by some public school boy with a superiority complex. Yeah, ok, he might have been hot, and I wasn't complaining about the view, but nothing gets me more than people who think they're better than others, just because of a superficial thing like money.

"You are such a moron." Each word was pronounced in that beautiful, posh accent of his (he sounded like bloody Daniel Craig), and I was so captivated by his voice that (embarrassingly) it took a while for the words to sink in.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?"

I sat there stunned into silence for a few seconds. In just two sentences, this guy had completely destroyed any attraction I first felt for him. _What a_…what a complete _dick_! I felt my temper flare.

"I'm neither. You know, taking some fucking unknown drugs and nearly being raped tends to affect my recognition of complete wankers. I really should have identified you sooner."

Sasuke raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at my outburst and got up. He walked over to the bar, reaching over and taking a pre-made drink off the side. It was a Martini, I think, complete with olive on a stick and all. I tried to muffle my snort – that's such a typical London posh boy drink. I mean, even fucking James Bond drinks it. (Maybe I was annoyed because I could never make holding a martini look anything but girly, but come on - it was still cliché). I don't think I quite managed it from the annoyed look he shot in my direction. He swallowed a mouthful, and my stupid, traitorous eyes locked onto his adam's apple bobbing up and down. No, that was not sexy. No, that did not make me think about him swallowing around my dick.

_Shut up self. Remember his personality, don't think about how soft those lips look and how much better they'd look wrapped around my-_

"Oh come on." I muttered under my breath, forcing my eyes down and away. I was already starting to fidget – I suddenly felt like I had all this energy to burn off. You know, that invincible feeling you get when you're drunk.

"Oh come on what?" Oh shit, he'd heard me. I couldn't exactly say 'oh, nothing, just berating myself for imagining you going down on me, happens a lot, you know.' I looked around wildly for something to blame it on. Inspiration was sparse, I tell you.

"Uh, that olive is ridiculous. What's the point of it?" You go brain. Way to make yourself sound absolutely stupid. And completely irrelevant.

His brow furrowed as he looked down at his drink and then back up at me. "My _olive_?"

Once I start lying I can't stop. Really, it's ridiculous.

"Yeah, I mean, that's such a fucking sterotype. You're nineteen and you're drinking martinis. Where has your _youth_ gone, man?"

He looked at me like I was nuts. I looked at me like I was nuts. Setting the drink down lightly after taking another gulp, he slowly stalked over to me.

"Let me get this straight: you have a problem with my _drink_? When I just saved you, from all accounts, from getting arse raped, and you sit here bitching about my _olive_?" I agreed with him. He made perfect sense. The music from the club was still faint enough to be heard, and the track change floated up from underneath the floor. The beat was increasing in tempo, sort of like my heart. He was only standing less than half a meter away; he smelled like sweat and cinnamon, but less sweet more peppery - like allspice. It was making my mouth go dry.

"It's not your olive, it's your cliché-"

"Naruto. Shut the fuck up." Yep, sounded like a completely solid argument, I wasn't going to argue with that, Naruto commencing shutting up—

Wait.

How did he know my name?

"You really don't remember me?" He asked, voice deepening, leaning forward and placing both hands on the arms of my chair. I felt like face palming – I must have spoken out loud.

"…Remember you?" I asked, confused. Sasuke kept inching closer, bring his body closer and closer over mine, until his lips were mere inches away from my face. His smell was invading my nose, settling over me like a blanket. It was familiar, I just couldn't place it. I was getting too hot too flustered by the proximity, and he knew it. I couldn't understand what he was playing at, the last thing I needed was to be crowded and set on edge again.

"I…uh…" My eyes were fluttering closed against my will, and I felt his body heat through the thin t-shirt. The faintest brush on my lips, and then he was gone, retreated to the door and holding it open for me.

"Okay, you're sober enough. No longer my problem. I'm sure your friends are anxious about you – go down and show them you're alright." His voice was no longer a rumble, more a patronizing dismissal. It pissed me off: did he kiss me to tell if I was sober or not? Who _does _that?!

I got up, albeit less smoothly and with more swaying that I would have liked, and headed towards the door, my lips curled back into a snarl.

"You're such a wanker." I bit out as I walked out the doorway. "It seems like you haven't quite grasped the concept of 'manners'." Yes, it may have been hypocritical.

His nostrils flared and his dark eyes just flashed hotter. "Just get the fuck out." He said, sounding bored. What a bi-polar jackass.

I stepped out of the door, the customary heat of France becoming a bit more apparent. Outside in the hall there was security officer ready to escort me back downstairs, wearing a black suit, ear piece and sunglasses. He must have been boiling in it, but at least the sunglasses were actually useful in a country like this, instead of being prattish. I was still fuming, even shaking slightly from the adrenaline of what had nearly happened to me. Getting down the stairs was a bit of a problem, but I refused help from Mr. Sunglasses , finding that the more I walked around, the clearer my head became. As we drew closer to the main stage of the club, the music steadily increased in volume until it was just a cacophony of noise and a throbbing in my head. It was painful. I needed to find one member of the gang so I could tell them I was going home – we'd been here for a good three hours, so I guessed everyone should be ready to leave anyway. Heading back to the bar in case Shino was still there, I noticed Kankuro shouldering his way through the crowd towards me. I paused, waiting for him to reach me.

"Where the fuck have you been, Naruto? We couldn't find you for like a whole two hours!" He sounded worried, which made me feel slightly guilty. The guilt abated, however, and turned into something slightly more uneasy when Kankuro caught sight of a hickey on my neck, and his face spread into a wide smirk. "Ah. I see. Can't exactly reprimand you for that, can I, my man? Have you seen Shino – I didn't even think he liked girls." Kankuro gestured to the end of the bar, where Shino had been when I last saw him. He was still there alright, but his face was covered with the girl he'd been chatting with before. Literally. It was pretty funny actually – the area around his mouth was a faded red of smeared lipstick prints. I chuckled.

"I feel mean trying to drag him away from the only action I've ever seen him get, but my head is killing me. Let's bounce?" I tried to make my tone as light as possible and Kankuro nodded.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I'm getting pretty tired too. You should go outside and get a taxi, and I'll go find the others." With that, he turned and shoved his way back into the seething mass of people, leaving me to locate the door and stumble outside into humid night air.

...For a first meeting, it was pretty special. Well, I say first. The first I can properly remember that is. And I never thought I'd be seeing Sasuke again – in my opinion, that was it. I'd met a complete (albeit fucking pretty) dick who owned a club in France, and that was that. Inconsequential. The irony is, I couldn't have been more wrong. About all of it.

In terms of France… well, I enjoyed the rest of the holiday. Clubbing didn't hold so much of an appeal to me as it did before I nearly got date-raped though, and I was meticulous about my drink – to the point where the others teased me about it, but I was still pretty freaked out for a couple of days afterwards. At least until all the hickeys and marks faded. We did all the touristy things, went to see a couple of bands, got horribly sun burnt. The whole she-bang.

I guess the next major incident was the 15th August. Otherwise known as results day, oh, and the worst day of my life. I'm not one of those people who wake up ridiculously early to check my results on the website. Truth be told, I was up until about 2am the night before playing Halo with Kiba. I don't know, I thought I'd done pretty average – not amazingly, but not terribly either, so I wasn't really that worried about it.

On the actual day, I woke up at around 10am with a that horrible feeling like your stomach's about to fall out of your mouth, and it took me a couple of seconds to work out why. Iruka (my guardian) was downstairs yelling at me to _hurry up and get up_ so I rolled out of bed and booted up my computer. I didn't want to check my phone just yet, because I knew Shino and Ten-Ten and everyone would have gotten all A*'s or whatever so I left it off. Our internet is ancient, and so every web page takes an age to load. It was sort of all building up inside me, the sudden worry and concern and that slight _numbingly stupid_ excitement.

I checked the website.

And refreshed the page.

And refreshed it again.

And again.

The results didn't change: I still had three blank D's staring back at me. My heart sped up and I felt like I was going to be sick. I think I was in denial, thinking they'd somehow messed up the marking, or I'd logged into someone else's account. How had this happened? I wasn't exactly an A student, but I should have at least been scoring B's or even C's! Shit, Iruka was going to be _furious_. No, wait, it was worse. He was going to be disappointed. I can't stand Iruka when he's disappointed. It just makes me feel so guilty and shit about myself for making him feel that way.

And that's when the worst of it hit me – all my grades were way to low to get into any of the Uni's I'd applied to, so...I wouldn't be going to uni like the rest of my friends. I'd be the one stuck at home, like they all said I would be. I'd be proving all of them right when they said Iruka wasn't qualified, was too young to bring up a child. It wasn't just me I'd failed. It was him, and Kankuro and Lee and Shino and Ten-ten and Kiba.

It took me another 4 weeks of depressed moping and bitterness before the letter came through.

* * *

Apologies about the length/the crappiness/how long it took me.

I will reread this in a bit and sort out how utterly awfully it was written.


End file.
